Theo’s Epilogue #10
On those weekends when she did wake up before noon, he’d cook breakfast and she’d brew him coffee.
They’d eat standing at the counters or curled up on his couch, never at the dining table, and they’d talk, or read books, or cuddle while they watched trashy reality television and classic movies, or they’d go out later and spend time in the city and with their friends.
They had a tendency to use the dining table for…other things.
And then one Sunday, one year, two months, and sixteen days ago, Theo woke up before Audrey did.
That was no surprise—he usually did now.
They’d left the blackout shades up that night while they fell asleep to a clear winter sky, the city’s lights glowing brightly beneath a smattering of twinkling stars, and early morning light poured through the windows.
Theo turned his head and looked at Audrey, snuggled peacefully into his side.
It was extra cold out, and she’d fallen asleep cozied up in his favorite hoodie.
Her favorite hoodie. He was fairly certain he hadn’t gotten to wear it once since he’d let her steal it from him.
His ears burned when he noticed how small she looked in it.
But that wasn’t all. A shaft of golden sunlight had fallen across the bed, glowing in her hair and casting her in an angelic halo.
She was so beautiful, she stole his breath away.
He stared down at her, silent. Waiting.
His breath quickened.
Something tugged at his heart, rolled in his chest, stirred deep in his soul.
An urge.
“I have to draw you.”
Theo whispered it before he could stop himself. The light was perfect. He had to. It was a compulsion. Once he spoke the desire out loud, he couldn’t stop it, and he sat up, looking frantically around the room for where he’d tossed his sketchbook.
Audrey stirred at his movement, snapping him at least partially out of his wild frenzy.
He leaned over and pressed a kiss to her temple, first one, and then the other when she shifted and nuzzled drowsily into his neck.
He gathered her up in his arms and pressed one to her lips next, whisper soft and gentle, as tender as he could make it.
She pawed at him, making groggy noises deep in her throat while she tangled her fingers in his hair.
“What is it?” she slurred when he finally pulled away, her eyes still closed. “What time is it?”
“Early.” His fingers were already unzipping the hoodie, drawing it slowly down her front and trying to make as little noise as possible. “I’m sorry if I woke you, sweetheart. You go back to sleep. Just relax. I’m going to take care of you.”
“Hmm?” She opened one eye when he pressed a kiss between her breasts.
Her brows knit together. “What are you doing, Theo?” Her nipples had tightened into hard buds at the sudden assault of cool air around them, and Theo grunted as he shifted his body over her, ignoring the sudden sharp pain in his hip at the movement.
It subsided once he settled and drew the duvet over his head, tucking it high enough to cover her as he slid further down, dragging his mouth along the length of her body and leaving languid, lazy kisses between her breasts and along her stomach while he pushed himself to the foot of the bed.
When he didn’t answer her and instead hooked his fingers beneath the elastic of her panties and tugged them gently down her legs, she drew in a sharp breath.
“You’re supposed to be resting.” She was more awake now. “You should—”
“Can’t rest. I have to draw you,” he muttered, burying himself beneath the covers and pulling her underwear fully off.
She propped herself up on her elbows and lifted the blankets up to peek at him. “Now? You want to do that now?”
“I always want to.” He ran his hands eagerly along her legs, wrapping his arms around her thighs and digging his fingers firmly into her soft, velvety flesh. “I think I’m in the mood for breakfast in bed.”
She looked so goddamn beautiful, staring down at him in concern.
“But you—”
“Let me take care of you, Audrey,” he growled, his pupils blown wide and his attention already lost in the sight of the rosy pink petals between her legs. “You’ve taken such good care of me. Let me make you come, and then let me draw you. I need this.”
He didn’t wait for her answer.
But she gave it to him anyway as soon as his lips touched home.
“Yes,” she gasped, throwing her head back onto her pillow, closing her eyes and writhing beneath the movements of his mouth.
He groaned into her sex, savoring the sweet taste of her and taking his pleasure in her own.
He loved the noises she made, loved the way the air seemed to scorch her throat while she panted, loved how he’d learned to wring orgasms from her body like this.
It made him feel powerful.
He gripped her legs tightly and splayed her wide before him as she arched her back and grasped for the headboard. He drank every last drop she deigned to give him, feasting upon her as though he’d been starving.
When she wound her fingers in his hair and pulled as she came, riding his face and screaming his name with his nose buried between her folds and his tongue thrust deep inside of her, he nearly came himself.
But he didn’t stop at one. Oh, no. He wanted more.
He once told her he was an excessively greedy and selfish man.
He showed her now what he’d meant that day.
He kept going, and Audrey begged him to stop, pleaded with him for more, told him she couldn’t take it, screamed “Yes, Theo, yes,” until her throat was raw and ragged, until he made sure she was boneless, until stars seemed to explode into being against the cosmic background of the universe behind her eyes—
Until he knew there was nothing but the feeling of him worshipping between her legs.
When she slumped to the side, her chest heaving and limbs shaking, he finally released her.
Theo slid out of bed and hobbled over to his art satchel.
He threw it over to his shoulder and dragged himself around to the other side of the bed, pausing only to lift Audrey up and peel her completely out of his hoodie before tossing it unceremoniously atop the duvet.
She was so limp and breathless, her skin so flushed with heat and sweat, she didn’t protest.
He gently laid her back down and sank heavily into the armchair in the corner.
“Don’t move,” he murmured, pulling his large sketchbook and tin of charcoal out from his satchel. “Stay just like that. Leave your hair right where it is. The light is perfect. You’re perfect.”
Drawing her like this made him feel more like himself than he had in a long time.
Everything else faded away once his focus took over, and for a blissful stretch of time, there was nothing but him, and her, the sun, and his sketch.
The room disappeared, and with it, the ache in his hip and the shaking of his hands.
The charcoal moved smoothly across the paper, capturing the soft curves of Audrey’s mouth, sweeping along her body, tracing the dark strokes of her lashes, spilling over the edges of the pillow with her hair.
After a few minutes, she came back to herself enough to tug at the duvet, seemingly still shy.
But when he looked up from his work and locked his gaze with hers, something shifted in her face.
He could only assume it was the intensity in his eyes reflected back at him in her own that made her slowly drop her arm, fully baring her breasts to him again.
Eventually, she kicked the rest of the duvet away from where it had tangled in her legs, and relaxed while she watched him watch her, studying him and lying on her side with a soft, knowing smile.
One of his own tugged at his lips, crooked and mischievous.
He put every bit of his love for her in that drawing, his hands gentle when he repositioned her, adjusting her to his liking to start another. And then one more, each one better and more relaxed than the last.
He’d never done this with someone he loved before. He’d only ever drawn nude live models in classes, and it was nothing like this.
This was the most intimate, electrifying thing he’d ever done.
And given the way Audrey was looking at him now, unabashedly posing for him, glowing and reveling in the warm, winter sunshine streaming through their windows, he was certain she felt that way too.
He loved her.
Every piece of her.
And he knew she could see it.
Only a fool wouldn’t be able to see it in his eyes, in his expression, in the way his gaze softened, how his hands took such care with her, how he stilled for a minute, just to gaze at her, for him and for no one else before he began to draw anew.
And given the way Audrey padded over and slid carefully into his lap once he finally set his sketchbook aside, wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing warm, languid kisses to the underside of his stubbled jaw, he knew she understood. He knew she understood why he’d needed to do this.
He didn’t know how long he held her in that chair, smudging black charcoal all over her arms and her neck while he traced the lines of her all over again, tapping across her freckled constellations, smoothing along the white slashes of her own scars, the few that he found.
But no matter how long it was, it still wasn’t long enough.
It was never enough.
It never would be.
The days and weeks passed. They framed the drawings he’d made of her and put them up in their bedroom, the rare example of his own art he was actually willing to display.
He let Audrey try her hand at cooking and then immediately revoked the privilege.
She adjusted to her new job not at a café while he kept working on his art.
His physical therapist, Andy, came back to his house for their appointments and they started working together in earnest again.
His limp began to fade.